


new year's kiss.

by shariling



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, New Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 12:12:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1387186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shariling/pseuds/shariling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You were looking at me earlier."</p>
<p>They share a look for an elongated moment, before a smirk creeps it's way to Grantaire's lips.</p>
<p>"A better observation would have been 'your gaze left me momentarily earlier', seeing as when you're in the room, my eyes are always on you, O Leader."</p>
            </blockquote>





	new year's kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> prompt was enjolras/grantaire, new years.
> 
> come say hi on [tumblr!](http://enjolrased.tumblr.com/)

"Are you going to do it this year?"

Joly gestures over to Grantaire with a flick of the wrist, noting how his friend's gaze has to be painfully drawn away from a source of unfathomable light in the center of the room. Enjolras is speaking with Courfeyrac and Combeferre about one righteous act or another, waving his arms gallantly, a wild look in his eyes. Grantaire sits in the corner, sipping a beer, and watching.

As is usual.

"Have I done it any other year?" Grantaire retorts, looking to Joly with what seems to be exhaustion. Joly fears for the last time he slept - debating the inquiry, before just shaking his head, shrugging.

"...no?"

"And why not?"

"Because you think he's out of your league."

"And has that changed?"

"I suppose not."

"Then there's your answer," Grantaire smiles, rather passive-aggressively Joly thinks, pressing the tip of his beer to his lips again. His gaze finds its way back to Enjolras - and Joly thinks, this time, that he looks somber. "The lips of my bottle are all I need to kiss, as usual."

"You're far too depressing," Joly says, trying to keep the pity from his voice, but failing in an obvious way.

"You could always kiss me."

"I don't love you."

"I didn't realize that was a requirement."

"But it's why you'd kiss Enjolras, isn't it? Why you'd like to?"

To which Grantaire expectantly stays quiet, scowling into the glass of his beer - Joly takes it as his cue to leave, but not before pressing a kiss to his friend's cheek, squeezing his shoulder.

Grantaire stares holes into Enjolras. And then there's eye contact.

&

Enjolras breaks it first, eyes flickering back to his guide and his center, trying _not_ to look confused at just why Grantaire was staring at him. He's not blind, nor an imbecile - he _knows_ that Grantaire looks at him in a specific way, in ways he can't imagine he's been looked at before - but still, it's a strange thing, is it not? To be the epitome of one's desires, and yet only share forceful words with one another, like they were born to bare teeth at each other's throats.

It makes Enjolras hungry in an uncomfortable sort way - makes him want to grip Grantaire's collar and yell at him to not be _completely_ self-destructive in every which way.

But, Enjolras considers this against the point - and the point is what he's debating with himself, why he _wants_ to get along with Grantaire, despite how every attempt only ends in hurt feelings and failure.

"As I was saying - "

"I believe you were finished," Combeferre interrupts, wearing what must be amusement on a stoic face.

"And a brilliant point well put! As always," Courfeyrac's vague response eludes to multitudes about his actual interests, and when he slings an arm around Enjolras' shoulder, it's clear it going to be worth at least one hefty sigh. "Onto more _personal_ issues - Enjolras, who are you kissing tonight?"

Enjolras scrunches his eyebrows, frowning while he pushes at Courfeyrac's side to no avail, as he's been barnacled to.

"No one."

"You wound me! Creatures as lovely as you should _definitely_ have a set of lips in mind." And Enjolras immediately thinks of wine colored, plump lips, circling around the rim of a bottle - and Courfeyrac, because he's a fucking mind reader, _laughs_. "Aha! So there is one. Go on, you can tell us."

"Get off me."

Courfeyrac relents, sighing in a dramatic way.

"I'd be more hurt if I didn't already know who it was."

"Who?" Enjolras tilts his head to the side - he knows he can't keep secrets from his right and left hands, but it's not as though this is something he wants _everyone_ to know.

"You aren't subtle, sorry to say," Combeferre says apologetically.

" _Subtle_ is actually the opposite of what you are. You're both so obvious, I want to cry," Courfeyrac laments, shutting his eyes in a wounded moment of silence, before reopening them with a smile on his face. "Just go tell him his sweater looks nice."

"Don't mention politics," Combeferre adds.

"Tell him his hair smells good!"

"Don't mention foreign governments."

" _Do_ mention the places that have legal gay marriage."

"No, no, don't do that."

Enjolras frowns, turning to walk in the opposite direction - but he is grabbed by the two of them ( Combeferre, you _traitor_ ) and shoved over in Grantaire's general direction.

"Be yourself!" Combeferre calls.

"I'm so proud, little Enjolras is growing up," Courfeyrac says, wiping a false tears from the corner of his eye.

_Fine_ , Enjolras relents, stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking towards Grantaire. _This night will be ruined._

&

Enjolras sets up to him with fierceness in his gaze, and Grantaire straightens up for only a short moment, before leaning back in his chair without a care. His eyes direct back to his bottle, where he's in desperate need for another beer - but Enjolras occupies his attention, and he guesses that once the blonde grows bored with him, he can get another.

"Yes?" Grantaire inquires, lifting his eyes.

"You were looking at me earlier."

They share a look for an elongated moment, before a smirk creeps it's way to Grantaire's lips.

"A better observation would have been 'your gaze left me momentarily earlier', seeing as when you're in the room, my eyes are always on you, O Leader."

At this, Enjorlas stiffs, moving his arms up to fold over his chest.

"Why?"

"A fruitless question, I'm afraid," Grantaire sighs, lifting his hands up in a shrug. "If I had an answer, I would have told you long ago."

"I doubt that."

"Then you're as wise as you are beautiful."

A silence becomes them then - which is better and worse than the yelling, in plenty of ways. On the one hand, hurt feelings are avoided, but there's an entirely new layer of _discomfort_ around then, a struggle away from the norm that they know. Anger, hate, building tension - that's comfortable. Usual.

This is strange, but not in a bad way, Enjolras considers. After a moment, he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"You want to kiss me."

Grantaire scoffs.

"The entirety of the population wants to kiss you, Enjolras. Another poor observation. Your wiring must be tangled."

"That's _not_ what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

Enjolras sucks in a hard breath, cheeks dyeing red and - Grantaire thinks, momentarily, that his Apollo is _embarrassed_. When else do his cheeks pinken, other than when in a fit of anger? His Enjolras, his Apollo, he is _confident_ , ambitious. He doesn't get nervous.

"If," Enjolras starts, and Grantaire only then realizes that there had been silence again between them. " _If_ the entire population wants to kiss me, then the sentiment is not returned."

"Ah."

" _Except_."

"Yes?"

"But one time."

It's nothing Grantaire had been expecting - he'd always considered that he'd lost Enjolras to the cause, and that was fair enough, because at least no one _else_ could have him. Because then he could say to himself, if Enjorlas _were_ interested in earthly desires and relationships, Grantaire might stand a chance - even though it's a lie obvious enough, even though there's no world in which Enjolras would find Grantaire anything other than repulsive - he could lie, could pretend.

Now he can't, and he's swallows the last of his beer, Enjolras watching the light bob of his Adam's apple.

"Well, go run and find them before the ball drops," he says, finally. Enjolras knits his eyebrows.

"You misinterpret."

"Do I? Give me more credit than that."

" _No_ ," Enjolras says firmly, shaking his head like he's fighting something within himself. "You're an idiot."

"Apparently."

It's only a couple minutes before midnight - selfishly, Grantaire thinks he might be able to distract Enjolras for long enough, so his lips might remain virgin into the new year. But he hates this thought, and himself with it, because Enjolras isn't _his_ , not in any sense of the word, except perhaps in idealism or religion - the way Jesus belongs to all his worshipers.

Grantaire is entertaining the thought of kissing Enjolras' feet, like Jesus and the apostles, before he feels a press of warm lips against him, licking at the remainder of beer on him.

"It's _you_ , idiot," Enjolras murmurs, and Grantaire does _not_ believe him, not for a second.

But he's quickly being manhandled into another kiss, ferocious as anything Enjolras does, and he guesses he can let himself believe for just a second, just a second longer.


End file.
